Widower and Accomplice
by ckret2
Summary: At Xemnas's command, Marluxia has control over six members. However, not all of them know each other. As the individuals gradually come together, they try to figure each other out, with varying degrees of success. [oneshot, AU]


A/N: This fic is written in honor of Ricchan's birthday, and the gift does not do her justice. Though I hope it's a good fic anyway, heh. It is inspired by and written in the world of Rii's AU, Cross the Heartland, located here: www. fanfiction. net- s- 3297305- 1- (FFnet complains mightily about links.) Just take out the spaces and replace the - with slashes to reach the story. If that doesn't work, CtH is also located in my favorite stories, so go find it there. I highly recommend it to anybody who should care to ask.

This fic (as well as Cross the Heartland, of course) is set in Great Depression-era USA, but otherwise mostly follows the story of the game. Thus, this is about Organization XIII as they will appear in CtH, as the Thirteenth Society, a charity with some underhanded methods of gaining funds and helping others. For any more explanation on the world, reading Rii's fic first would help. In fact, go read it anyway. Shoo. When you're done, leave her a nice review.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts, Organization XIII, and all characters are property of Disney/Square Enix. The Great Depression AU interpretation of said characters is property of Ricchan. Really, I don't own much of anything.

x

Widower and Accomplice

x

"What were you researching?"

Marluxia asked the question as if reading it in the clouds; it had come out of the clear blue sky. He was standing at the window of the mansion owned by the Thirteenth Society, leaning against the windowpanes and looking at the Vermont skyline, arms crossed.

Vexen looked up from his desk. He had been appointed to handle the financial matters in the mansion by that upstart standing in the window. "Why don't you talk to one of the others?" he muttered, looking down again and scrawling down a few numbers on a notepad. He scowled. Of all the times to be uneconomical, who on God's green earth had thought it was a good idea to waste _fifteen dollars_ on seed and gardening tools!

"I have," Marluxia said. "None of them had any good answers."

None they wanted to give to you, Vexen was willing to bet. He sighed and set his pencil down. If Marluxia didn't stop bothering him, he'd get all his numbers messed up. Where was Zexion when Vexen needed him? He was usually in charge of keeping the books.

"What was who researching when?" Vexen asked, looking at Marluxia.

"The six of you, the founders of the Thirteenth Society," Marluxia said. "When you were working under Mr. Ansem Wise. What did you research?"

Vexen shrugged. He didn't know why Marluxia wanted to know, but he didn't know why it made a difference. "We were in the business of medical breakthroughs," he said, smiling wryly at the pompousness of his own statement. Marluxia snorted, and the smile on Vexen's face was replaced with a frown. "When the crash came, we were studying smallpox. We were looking for some type of medicine to alleviate its symptoms."

"Like penicillin?" Marluxia asked.

"Uh..." Vexen cleared his throat, surprised. Not many people knew about the new findings on penicillin; most of them had been made by workers for the Thirteenth Society. "Penicillin is only effective against bacteria, Marluxia. Smallpox is caused by a virus. Really, I thought someone like you would know that."

Marluxia chuckled, and turned to smirk at Vexen from the window. "You would think that, wouldn't you?"

Vexen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So childish! You would think that, bah. Marluxia's taunts were of the schoolchild variety, the kind found among nine-year-old boys. _You_ would think that, _wouldn't_ you?

"How did you make it so high in the Society?" Vexen snapped. Above several of the founding members, no less.

"Maybe I've got something you don't," Marluxia said, immediately. As if he didn't even have to think about the answer.

"Like what?"

Marluxia didn't answer, simply walking past his elder and knocking on the desk where Vexen had his notes. "Better get back to that bookkeeping, Vexen," he said. "You know folks look funny at anybody with any kind of money, in these times. We want to keep up the appearances of being legitimate, after all."

"We _are_ legitimate," Vexen snapped. For the most part: Marluxia, however, did not need to know about _that_ part of the Society.

"You just keep sayin' that, Vexen," Marluxia called, leaving the room. "Maybe it'll help our records look better."

"And where are you going?" Vexen demanded.

"Think I'll go out back a while," Marluxia said. "Nothing like gardening to calm your mind, is there?"

Vexen threw a disbelieving glance at the door, and glared down at the page. Seed and gardening tools!

After that, if in his rage he made any mistakes in his calculations, he never noticed and never cared.

x

"Where's the man around this place?"

Marluxia looked up at the new voice. A woman had walked around the front of the mansion to the back, where he was planting his seeds. She was holding a handbag and lugging a suitcase like she planned on staying. "That'd be me, ma'am," he said, standing up and brushing off his knees to help her with her suitcase.

She jerked it away from him like he was a common thug trying to grab her purse. "That's a load of bull," she said primly. "What are you, the gardener? Just show me inside, all right, and I'll tip you a nickel."

"Pardon me, miss," Marluxia said, crossing his arms and sneering. "What are _you_, the new maid?" That was clearly not the situation; this woman's suitcase was practically bursting at the seams, and her dress was a cut above the sackcloth jumpers that most common folks wore these days. Definitely not a maid's clothing.

The woman gaped at Marluxia, furious. "I oughta hit you for that!" she declared. She snatched off her travel hat, revealing blond hair with two braids from the front to back. It had, Marluxia thought, faint resemblance to a Negro hairstyle. "Now you listen her, smart guy! I s'pose if you work here you must know about the Thirteenth Society! Xemnas himself sent me down here, and if you don't take me to meet the man in charge this minute, I can assure you that he'll be hearing about the fine, hospitable welcome I got from his gardener!"

"I'm the man in charge," Marluxia snapped. "Name's Marluxia, chairman in the Thirteenth Society and head of operations down here. What did Xemnas send you down here for, our entertainment?"

The woman's cheeks went a violent red, and for a moment Marluxia thought she really would slap him. But she seemed to get control over herself now that she knew that she was speaking to a higher-up. She smiled tightly. "My apologies, sir. Ain't often that I see _respectable_ men planting daisies. My name's Larxene, new chairwoman in the Society."

"They're irises," Marluxia said, studying Larxene again. Chairwoman! Xemnas had let a woman into he highest ranks of their Society? Well, why should he be surprised. Xemnas had already made chairmen out of everything from an Irishman to a goddamned thirteen-year-old orphan. The man himself was, of all things, a Negro! Why not add a woman?

He sighed inwardly, and again attempted to take Larxene's suitcase. She again held it back. "I've hauled heavier than this around, thanks," she said with a smile that Marluxia couldn't tell was supposed to be coy or threatening. "Ever carried two grown men's bodies?" He settled on the latter.

"Can't say as I have," Marluxia said, taking off his gardening gloves and leaving them in the dirt. He led Larxene around to the front of the building, pulled out his key ring with upwards of two dozen keys – it never, ever hurt to have too many keys on hand – and located the one to the front door. "Is that how you met Xemnas?"

"Met him about a year ago through my husband," Larxene said, rethought the statement, and said, "Ex-husband." She easily maneuvered her handbag and suitcase through the front door, took in the lavish white marble and crystal chandelier of the mansion's entrance hall, and visibly sneered. As Marluxia led her to the stairs, she said, "You ever been married, Marluxia?"

He rubbed his thumb over his wedding band self-consciously. "I'm a widower."

"Damn shame," Larxene said unsympathetically. "Hope she wasn't that much younger than you. My man was getting up near forty when he was gunned down."

Marluxia turned to stare at her, partly out of shock at her apparent lack of concern and partly to judge her age. She looked barely eighteen, but surely she was older than that.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Marluxia said.

Larxene snorted. "I'm sorry I didn't get his money! That's the only reason I'm in your Society, and don't you forget it. If it weren't for Xemnas, I'd be back singing jazz for a bunch of drunk geezers tryin' to peek up my skirt, and running from the cops for what I helped my husband do."

She was far, far too liberal with her words. Marluxia threw a perturbed glance at her and she smiled back darkly. He began to suspect that she was making him uncomfortable on purpose. She seemed to be enjoying it, in any case.

Larxene had easily carried her suitcase up to the second floor of the mansion. She was indeed much stronger than she looked, or than Marluxia had thought any woman could be. "Which room's mine?" she asked.

Marluxia had been expecting another person to be moving in, but not so soon – and not female, which meant she couldn't be stuck in another member's room like he had been planning. There were two hallways coming off from the stairway, one leading left and the other leading right. The one to the left led to all the other residents' bedrooms, the one to the right led to two guest rooms and various other rooms. He took Larxene to the right. He didn't think it was proper for a lady to be sharing a hallway – and a bathroom – with several other men. "In here," he said, pushing open a door to a guest room.

She walked in, and sighed. "Well, it's not like my mother's house," she said, dropping her handbag on the bed and the suitcase on the floor. "Thank God for that."

Marluxia backed out of her room. "Besides me, you'll be sharing this house with four other men," he said. "Vexen, Lexaeus, Zexion, and another member yet to arrive. I'm sure you'll meet them all eventually." He turned to leave, then stopped, and added, "New members are expected to cook until the next one arrives."

"Bullshit," Larxene said. Marluxia scowled at her. "I couldn't cook a banana without burning it."

"You don't cook bananas," Marluxia said.

"That's right I don't," she agreed. "What about you, Mr. Iris?"

He gritted his teeth. This was what happened when they let a woman into the Society. "Fine. I'll take care of it," he said.

"You wife must have adored you," Larxene said, and shut the door in his face.

It was a good thing she did, or Marluxia might have slapped her. Seething, he headed downstairs to the library.

He'd have to tell Vexen he was back on cooking duty until further notice.

x

Zexion wandered into the kitchen, still wearing the black hat he wore when going out in public to cover his prematurely graying hair. "Hello, Vexen," he said.

"Where were you?" he asked, stirring a pot of soup in his white lab coat as if he were mixing a vat of chemicals.

Zexion almost laughed at the sight, but not quite. "Meeting with an associate in the town."

"Fort Olivia?" Vexen asked. The town hadn't been a fort since the Civil War, but it had retained its name. "What kind of associate?"

"One of Xemnas's that he doesn't know I've met," Zexion said.

Vexen nodded. It was well known among the original members of the Thirteenth Society that the leader of their so-called charity got much of his money through mob connections. No one was quite sure how he had formed them, but knew they had started shortly after the crash.

Zexion had discovered one of Xemnas's connections by accident, a mob boss and bootlegger during the Prohibition with a specialty in apple cider; he had moved out to the country after the police started investigating his connections to a wave of mob-related murders. Zexion had met him in '34, after the Prohibition ended and he made his apple cider business legit. He was definitely not a savory character, but he was stupid, and more than willing to discuss his relationship with Xemnas.

So far, Zexion had only shared the information with the other four men who had worked under Ansem Wise. They were fairly certain that Xemnas didn't know what they knew. Considering some of the men he was involved in, they were quite glad he didn't know that they had been prodding into his business.

This wasn't the Xemnas they used to know.

"Whatever happened to selflessly giving our time and money to those in need?" Vexen said.

"We still do that," Zexion said. "I think." He smiled wryly. "Though don't say you haven't lined your own pockets at all from this endeavor."

"Don't ask me and I won't have to lie," Vexen said, the corners of his mouth twisting into a reluctant smile. "Now tell me. What's old Xemnas up to this time?"

"He's after a boy," Zexion said. "Supposedly this boy got himself tangled up in the affair over Hart's Will, and Xemnas wants to draw him out of the public eye until all the media hubbub dies down."

"How altruistic of him," Vexen said. "Surely, he's not trying to squeeze a few bucks out of the will, is he?"

"Why, Vexen!" Zexion said in mock-offense. "We are a charity! We're simply doing our Christian duty, taking care of this poor boy."

"I don't suppose this boy will be grateful enough to donate a few dollars, will he?"

Vexen and Zexion looked at the door, startled. Marluxia was leaning in the doorway. "Just making sure that dinner will be ready on time. We have a new member, you know. We'd want to give her a good impression."

Dinner? Vexen turned around, saw the soup boiling over the edge of its pot, and cursed mightily.

Marluxia watched with disgust as Vexen moved the pot off its heater and attempted to keep any more from spilling. "What waste," he said. "You know there's an awful lot of folks who'd kill to have this kind of food."

"I suppose you know all about that, don't you?" Vexen muttered.

Marluxia snorted. You would think that, wouldn't you? "I just might," he said.

He pushed off the doorway and walked out of the kitchen, saying, "No need to keep quiet in here, you two. I already know all about Xemnas."

Vexen shot Zexion an alarmed look as Marluxia left. "How do you think he learned?"

"I don't know," Zexion said, shrugging. "I suspect it had to do with his wife."

"His wife?" Vexen said. "I didn't know he was married. Where is she?"

Zexion smiled faintly. "Right now, she's up with God above."

"Oh." Vexen continued stirring the soup without saying anything more. What else could he say to that?

He almost felt bad for how he'd disdained Marluxia upon meeting him. He was, what, in his late twenties? Thirty at the oldest. To have his wife die so young...

And then he remembered the gardening tools and took back his new sympathy.

x

The young lady who had joined the Society claimed the seat at the head of the dining room table. Vexen, Zexion, and Lexaeus eyed the new arrangement uncertainly; the head was Marluxia's seat, and he had never been seen to willingly sacrifice this symbol of his authority. However, when he came into the dining room, he sat at the place that had been set out for Larxene without a word, so the others took their usual places.

Dinner was started, as usual, without fanfare. They did not have any servants to dish out the food for them, they did not bother to start the meal with a prayer or with idle chatter. Zexion simply took the pot of soup, ladled out what he wanted into his bowl, passed it to Lexaeus. It went around the table until it reached Zexion again and he set it on the homemade potholder that someone had bought in Fort Olivia for six cents.

Larxene kept looking up and studying her new associates as they ate, expecting one of them to eventually say something, to start the conversation. She wondered whether or not they were expecting her to say something, as the new member, or if they were simply dumbstruck in the presence of a stranger. She suspected they were all bachelors for life, with the notable exception of Marluxia the widower.

Even though everyone was keeping their gaze down on their own food, they could all feel Larxene's gaze like the heat of the sun against their faces. She wanted to know what was going on. Had everyone taken vows of silence? Had another member died? What? Finally, because no one else was doing it, Marluxia set down his spoon to explain a few things to their new member.

"We are not friends here," Marluxia said. The others heard his voice and ignored it, knowing they were not being addressed – only Larxene looked back at him. "We are co-workers with a common mission statement. You aren't going to get much friendly chit-chat out of us, Larxene."

"I could have figured that much out myself," she said, grimacing slightly. "What do you do, living in the same house, if you can't stand each other?"

She aimed the question at all of them, but they let Marluxia answer.

"We work together," Marluxia said. "The Thirteenth Society won't run itself. We do our jobs and when we don't, we avoid each other best we can."

"Really!" Larxene frowned. "Then why is it you all eat together?"

"Because none of us like to cook if we can help it." A self-pitying mutter from the maltreated Vexen. Lexaeus smirked briefly at his friend's comment.

Larxene looked at her fellow Society members with indignation, and stood up. "Then I suppose there's no reason I should stay around here, if no one cares either way." She shoved her chair back into place, knocking it into the table and causing the soup to ripple. Her own bowl was almost untouched. "This food's not fit for criminals, and I would know. I'll be eating in Fort Olivia."

She marched out of the room, announcing as she left, "You're all just a pack of nobodies, anyway, sitting here like you can't talk, and I hope you know that."

The remaining four almost smiled at her outburst.

"Rather low thing for her to say, wasn't it?" Zexion commented idly.

Because it was a question, and because no one else seemed to want to answer it, Lexaeus said, "Maybe she's right. Maybe we are just nobodies."

An Irish kid, a drunk of a gambler, an orphan child, a piece of street trash who thought of Xemnas like Jesus Christ, the widow of a deceased criminal, God-knows-what-else in the backgrounds of the other members, and a Negro leading them all. Could such a group be considered a pack of nobodies?

You would think that, wouldn't you. Marluxia pushed back his chair, quietly excused himself, and went outside to care for his plants.

His wife had always had a green thumb, before she'd gotten tuberculosis.

x

The window in Zexion's room faced the back of the mansion, and he took advantage of this. Half sitting against the windowsill, he watched the garden as Marluxia planted his seeds. He had dipped into the charity's funds to purchase his gardening supplies, but Zexion decided it was a minor infraction and didn't make nearly as big a deal about it as Vexen. After all, if a few plants could keep Marluxia calm, Zexion didn't see why they should begrudge him this small pleasure. The man was flat broke, after all.

He heard the doorknob to his room click softly as it was turned, and turned his head just enough to nod at Lexaeus in greeting. "Something on your mind?" he asked.

"Not really," he said. "I was just wondering what you think about Marluxia."

Zexion smiled, and peered out the window again. "He's a peculiar one," he said unnecessarily. "Are you worried he might get some ideas we won't like?"

Lexaeus hesitated before answering, thinking over his response carefully. "Something like that," he said. "He doesn't seem to approve of Xemnas's policies."

"Do we approve of Xemnas's policies?" Zexion asked.

"You've got a point," Lexaeus said, half-smiling.

"We're not fully a charity," Zexion said, "and Xemnas knows it just as well as the rest of us do." The "us" referred to the top chairmen (and chairwoman) of the Thirteenth Society, and they never had to explain this. They all understood that they were separate from the rest of the volunteers. "We're more of a business than a charity, and he's running it the best way possible during a time when most businesses don't do so well."

Lexaeus nodded, though Zexion probably wouldn't have reacted if he hadn't. Once he was on a roll, he hardly noticed anything except the sound of his own voice.

"The problem is," he continued, "although we all know it's true, we're still treating this business like a charity. And that is, of course, bad for business."

"Marluxia doesn't seem to have that attitude," Lexaeus pointed out. It was one of the first things that he had noticed about the man.

"No, he doesn't," Zexion agreed. "He has taken a... I don't know if it's a _practical_ view of the Thirteenth Society. He's taken a view without any delusions, which is more than Xemnas has done."

He was silent for a moment, after that. Lexaeus didn't try to speak; he knew Zexion had more to say, he was simply waiting for the right moment, collecting his thoughts.

"Do you think Marluxia might try to take control of the Society?" Zexion asked.

"He might." It was what Lexaeus had been fearing.

"It's a possibility. He strongly dislikes Xemnas, you know," Zexion said. "I wouldn't blame him."

"Why's that?"

"Haven't you heard about his wife?" Zexion said. Lexaeus had, in fact, that she had died, but he didn't know why that was relevant. "She died of tuberculosis three years ago, just a few weeks after biologists funded by the Thirteenth Society published a paper stating that penicillin might be an effective remedy for the disease."

Lexaeus frowned. "But it doesn't—"

"I know that," Zexion said. "We all know that, now. It isn't. But Marluxia was already broke. He spent his last cent on medical care for his wife, and turned to the nearest Society-sponsored hospital for help after the other hospitals refused to care for her. They did the best they could, but the penicillin treatment..."

"Was ineffective," Lexaeus finished.

Zexion nodded. "He placed his last hope with us."

And we failed him, Lexaeus thought. The Society had put his wife on an experimental treatment, no better than a quack's medicine, based off a brand new study that turned out to be wrong, and she had died.

It was no wonder that Marluxia refused to listen to their pretty little claims that the Thirteenth Society was an innocent charity. Even if that had been true, if he ever accepted that, he would only have himself to blame for his wife's death.

"Do you think the Society would be better off in Marluxia's hands?" Lexaeus asked.

"I don't know," Zexion admitted. "I'm not sure what he wants to do. He could be hoping to reform it, or he could try to tear it down. I'm sure revenge features into his plans, whatever they are."

Lexaeus nodded. "We'll just have to wait, to tell for sure."

"I suppose we will," Zexion said.

x

Larxene came back to the mansion when the sky was dimming down to twilight. She tried the front door, cursed, and headed around back to see if by any chance there was someone outside with the key to the door.

Luckily, Marluxia was outside again, working in his garden. "Do you ever just sit down for a while and turn on the radio, Mr. Iris?" she asked, smirking.

"It's tulips now," he said, not glancing up as he dug into the ground to plant the bulbs.

"Whoops, my mistake," Larxene said. "Mr. Tulip, then."

Marluxia sat back and looked up at Larxene. "Did you want something?" he asked coldly.

"The door's locked," she said. "The key would be nice."

Wordlessly, Marluxia pulled out his massive key ring and held it up for Larxene to take.

She scowled. "Don't you know it's proper to open a door for a lady?"

"Don't you know it's proper to say 'please'?" he retorted.

"Shouldn't be necessary if you're a lady," Larxene said.

Marluxia sighed and stood up. He led Larxene around to the front of the house. The sooner he helped the pest, the sooner he'd be free of her presence.

"Can't see what your wife saw in you," she grumbled. "I don't care if chivalry is dead, some things are still just polite."

Marluxia winced. She was right, of course. This wasn't like him. Instead of admitting it, though, he said, "You haven't exactly got a winning personality either. How did you catch a husband?"

"What makes you think he was after my personality?" The door had been unlocked, but Larxene stood in the doorway, not leaving until the discussion was finished. She noticed the way Marluxia's cheeks colored, and snapped, "Keep your mind clean, mister, he wasn't after _that_, either. He wanted a girl that was willing to help him in the business, and that was me."

Now Marluxia was curious. "What kind of a business did he have, anyway? Smuggling, rigged gambling?"

"I confirm and deny nothing," Larxene said. "But let me tell you this, if it weren't for your little Thirteenth Society protecting me, I'd be in a heap of trouble now that he's dead."

"Of course," Marluxia said. He grimaced to himself, and said, "You're just another poor soul in debt to Xemnas." He turned to head back to his garden. He'd fulfilled his requirements.

Larxene wasn't willing to let him go yet. "Hey, wait a minute!" She stepped out of the doorway after him and grabbed his arm. "So what if I am?" she asked. "Do you think I like it? Owing my life to a... a..." She screwed up her mouth. "Oh, hell, you know."

A black man, yes. If she really had been a jazz singer, Marluxia would have thought that she wouldn't care about the presence of Negro. Apparently not. "But you're not doing anything about it," Marluxia said.

"What _can_ I do about it?" she said, crossing her arms, glaring at her feet. "I'm just a... just a partner-in-crime, you know. Just an accomplice. I can't come up with anything clever enough to get myself away from someone like Xemnas. I... figure out how to hold on, best I can, until I find someone better to attach myself to." Larxene shrugged, helplessly. "I'm just a woman, after all." She said the words bitterly, as if she didn't believe the power behind them, but was resigned to the role they placed her in.

Marluxia found some of his animosity towards Larxene dissolving. They were kindred spirits, in a way. They both resented the faux benevolence of their superior, of Xemnas, but they still had to work under him.

What if they didn't have to?

"And what would you do if you found some new man to be your partner-in-crime?" Marluxia asked.

"Shoot, whatever I had to. Whatever he wanted," Larxene said, shrugging. "I follow orders just fine, I only complain based on who I'm takin' them from."

"Would you complain if he wanted to get rid of Xemnas too?"

Larxene eyed Marluxia carefully. "I suppose not."

He nodded, casually. "Good," he said. "By the way," he added, as if it had just occurred to him, "I overheard from Zexion that Xemnas has some kind of associate in Fort Olivia. You know anything about that?"

"Nope, not a thing," Larxene said. She kept her voice light, like Marluxia's, as if they were talking about the weather, as if the conversation had come from out of the clear dusky sky.

"Might be good to try to learn a bit more about him, whoever he is," Marluxia said. "The knowledge might come in handy, you see? I can't really talk to Zexion, though. I think he's a little suspicious of my motives."

"Sure, I see just fine," Larxene said, and smiled. It was the same smile she had favored him with earlier, a threatening smile, a dangerous one, but this time the threat wasn't aimed at him. It was aimed wherever Marluxia pleased to point it.

It was then he realized what a hazardous accomplice he'd gained.

Larxene walked back into the mansion. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, Marluxia," she said, winking. "We'll have to continue this little discussion later." She shut the door.

Marluxia slowly smiled without even noticing he was doing it. He re-locked the front door of the mansion, put his key ring back in his pocket, and headed to the back of the mansion.

Until night fell and he couldn't see what he was doing, Marluxia continued laboring in his garden, planting flowers in honor of his dead wife.

x

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you all enjoyed, and please review. I'm not much of an AU writer, so any critique would be much appreciated.

Happy birthday Ricchan! May your plotbunnies be fruitful, your iPod psychic, and your characters canonically crossdressing. (Inside jokes are fun!)


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